


Breathe

by koalawhisperer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Despair, Domestic Disputes, M/M, Mental Anguish, Prompt Fill, Teenlock, Thoughts of Self-harm, Unilock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1888527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koalawhisperer/pseuds/koalawhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamish Watson-Holmes, once a vibrant, energetic, happy boy, was now a broken shadow of himself. He spent more time crying than he did smiling, more time wondering why he existed than loving the life he’d been given.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> So...I've had this prompt list from Tumblr since February. "Breathe" for Hamex was one of them. I wish I could remember who prompted this!

Everything was falling apart for one Hamish Watson-Holmes. His parents seemed to be at odds with one another more than ever thanks to Sherlock’s constant absence, his grades in school were dropping because the arguments led to sleepness nights and more stress than a seventeen-year-old should have to handle since he often played mediator, and on top of that, he felt abandoned. Where could he go when he was at the end of his rope? Not his uncle Mycroft; the man had too much on his plate to deal with the spiralling darkness that Hamish’s life had become. Not Greg, dealing with Sherlock was enough. Even his friends seemed to have better things to do than listen to Hamish talk about his deepest fears. When he talked to them, they constantly reassured him that he wasn’t abandoned; that they were still there for him, but it wasn’t enough to soothe the tempest in his mind. He was quickly spiralling into a place he’d never imagined he’d reach, and there was no-one there to save him. He had his boyfriend, Alex Moran-Moriarty, but even their relationship seemed distant. It was like Hamish had become second place since the older boy had gone to university. They rarely talked as much as they used to, and they barely spent any time together. His logical mind said that Alex was busy, but his irrational fears convinced him otherwise. Alex didn't want him. He wasn't important. That was the story of his life. Never first, always second.

Hamish was a bubbling volcano, emotions roiling and boiling inside of him at a fever pitch, threatening to be released. He could feel the proverbial storm on the edge of the horizon He spent many nights awake, listening to the latest row between Sherlock and John. Why had they gotten married in the first place? They hated each other now, it seemed. It hadn't always been that way. They were happy at one point, weren't they? Hamish could remember going to the park, the zoo, just being a family. And the attention they gave to him now might as well have been non-existent. Why did he exist? He just took up space. If he were to die, if he were to somehow become invisible and vanish off the face of the earth, then no-one would notice. No-one would care. Or so he thought.

So there he was one night, locked away in his room with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. His room was a mess, filled with laundry that he’d done but not bothered to put away. Why should he? It wasn’t like anyone was coming into his room. Not like anyone was coming over. He had homework, but why should he do it? He wasn't going anywhere in his life. He turned his phone over and over in his hand, debating texting someone. Alex. Their last conversation had been one-sided, Alex going on and on about how great university was and how much he missed Hamish. Yeah, Hamish had thought. If you miss me so much, then why don’t you come and visit on the weekends? I guess I’m not as important to you now. If he texted Alex now, what would the probability of getting a response be? Slim to none. Alex had new friends. Maybe someone else he was interested in. Hamish knew, in the back of his mind that this was ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop himself from believing it to be true. There were far better people at university. But god, Hamish needed Alex now more than ever. He needed the blond’s strong arms around him, protecting him from his nightmares and fears and making him feel as though everything was okay. Or at least that it would be okay eventually.

What was he supposed to do? If Alex ignored his text, it would break him. It would be the absolute last straw. His logical mind told him that a lack of reply might mean that the older teen was busy; Uni course work was harder than what he had, and he was also on the rugby team. He might be studying, might be practising. But the part of Hamish’s mind that had lost touch with reality told him that Alex ignoring his text meant that Alex didn’t love him. Didn’t want him. Which would be worse, stewing and stewing until he snapped and did something he might regret, or being driven to think that his boyfriend didn’t love him? Hamish curled in on himself as he fought with his mind, his entire body shuddering with dry sobs until it became too much. Feeling sick to his stomach, Hamish opened the text message conversation he and Alex were having and fired off a quick text.

_I need you. Please. HWH_

Hamish watched the message pop up on the touchscreen and placed the phone on his bedside table, curling in on himself once again as the tears began to fall. He’d put himself on the line, put his heart on the line, and that was the riskiest thing that anyone could do. He silently willed Alex to hear his plea, to read the text as one of anguish instead of the beginnings of something physical, to be the proverbial knight in shining armour and come to his rescue. He’d tried to keep all of his hurt to himself, but he’d done it for far too long. Hamish Watson-Holmes, once a vibrant, energetic, happy boy, was now a broken shadow of himself. He spent more time crying than he did smiling, more time wondering why he existed than loving the life he’d been given.

*~*

Alex sat at his desk in his dorm room, poring over a thick history text. He was a very intelligent young man, as one would expect the son of Jim Moriarty to be, but he actually had to apply himself to his university studies, unlike his previous school experiences. He’d done his best to keep up with Hamish, texting and calling when he got a chance, but there were times when he simply couldn’t. He was carrying a full course load, and he was on the rugby team. Those practises were much more intense than what he was used to. He thought Hamish understood, but lately, he’d noticed that Hamish was…different. He was more shut off, more distant. He didn’t talk about his problems like he used to; it was as though he kept them all internalised instead of letting them out. To be honest, Alex was worried. He knew from experience what happened when one kept things inside for far too long. The emotions burst forth, and the result was never pretty. He startled slightly when his phone vibrated and danced across his desk, alerting him to a new message. Alex put his notes aside and unlocked his phone, smiling when he noticed the message was from Hamish. This was good; he'd been missing Hamish lately. Alex read the message, and the smile on his face immediately became a concerned frown. Hamish needed him. This was bad; if he was…turned on, he said “I want you”. Need meant something entirely different. Alex fired off a reply.

_What’s wrong? AMM_

As soon as the message sent, Alex tried to return to his textbook, but his mind wouldn’t focus. He didn’t care about what happened in the 1700s, not when something was obviously wrong with Hamish. He was strong in history; he could study later and be fine for the test. He chewed nervously at his lower lip as he waited for his phone to light up with a reply. Why was Hamish taking so long? His mind reeled with worst-case scenarios? What if there was a bloodied blade in Hamish’s hand, stained with his own blood? What if there was a gun to his head, or even worse, one in his limp, lifeless hand? No, surely Sherlock or John would’ve told him if that were the case. But what if?

*~*

Hamish sobbed into his pillow as he heard Sherlock raise his voice again, this time yelling at John for...something or another. He didn't care. He was just so bloody tired, tired of being forced to listen to the fights, tired of being ignored, tired of feeling abandoned. It would be so easy, he realised. He had a box of razor blades for opening cardboard boxes stashed in his bedside table. Hamish knew enough about human physiology to know just how to cut to bleed out in a hurry. One slip of his hand, and it would be done. He wouldn't be missed. He began to tremble and shudder as his sobs wracked his body. Alex wasn't texting back. Alex didn't want him. Alex had stopped caring. Those thoughts began to creep in again...until his phone chimed. Hamish picked up his phone with trembling hands and noticed Alex's name. He was probably going to tell him he was too busy...no. He'd responded! “What's wrong?” Did he have...hope? No. He wasn't going to get his hopes up. Blinking away the pooling tears in order to see, Hamish managed to type out a reply.

_Everything feels like it's crumbling. I can't take it. HWH_

Hamish sent the message and put his phone down again, refusing to acknowledge the tiny glimmer of hope that had blossomed in his chest. He couldn't get his hopes up; he'd been let down far too many times in his life to let himself do that again. But maybe, maybe Alex would come.

*~*

Alex nearly ran to his desk when he heard his phone vibrate loudly against the wooden surface. Hamish. He'd replied, thank God. He fumbled with his phone and opened the message, and his heart plummeted into his chest as he read the short reply. Hamish needed him. Badly. How had he missed this? How had he let Hamish get this far? He thought he'd convinced his boyfriend that they were still good, that he still loved him and wanted him. He knew that Sherlock and John were having problems too, but he'd had no idea that everything had built up like this. It explained so much. It explained why Hamish had suddenly become so reserved, so distant. Why his smiles seemed forced. Hamish knew he could talk to Alex, so why had he refused to do so? God, what if he'd thought that their relationship had gone downhill after Alex had left? What if he thought that they weren't okay? He had to fix this. He couldn't fix Sherlock and John, but he could do his best to fix what was happening in his own relationship. Alex fired off a quick text before grabbing his car keys and slipping into his jacket.

_I'm on my way. Please try to relax. I love you. AMM_

*~*

Falling. Falling, falling, falling. The blade in Hamish's drawer was becoming more and more tempting, drawing the teen towards it as though they were magnetised to each other. He heard his phone vibrate but didn't bother answering it. It was probably Alex turning him down. Too busy. Alex was always too busy. He covered his head with his pillow as the volume of the row downstairs seemed to escalate, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears that flowed and flowed down his cheeks. What did he do to deserve this? He'd been nothing but good. Okay, so he got into a bit of trouble, what person didn't? He was only human. Then, he thought the absolute worst. Maybe, just maybe, if he put an end to /himself/, then this would stop. Alex wouldn't have anyone to ignore, he wouldn't have to hear his parents' fight, his space wouldn't be filled. This was it. Hamish sat up, slowly, as though he'd been put into slow motion, and opened his drawer. There it was. The blade. The tool. Hamish took the small, slender piece of metal into his right hand and held out his left wrist. It would take more than one cut, but that was doable. Just as he held the blade to his wrist, the argument stopped, and he heard footsteps hurrying up to his room. Probably his parents coming to yell at him. Whatever. Hamish was done with all of it. He held the blade to his wrist and applied pressure just as the door slammed open revealing...

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Hamish looked up and felt his heart stop in his chest. Alex. A very, very frightened Alex. Hamish had never seen his boyfriend look so afraid in his entire life. Alex wasn't afraid of anything. Alex was brave; how could he not be given what he'd grown up with? But in that moment, Alex was afraid. Hamish could tell just by looking at him. God, he was such a fuck-up! He'd scared Alex. But...wait. Wait. This meant that Alex cared. Alex cared about him enough to panic when Hamish was on the verge of harming himself. The glimmers of negative thoughts welled up in his mind again. What if Alex went back to ignoring him after this? What if this was some sort of...god, Hamish didn't know. He wasn't thinking clearly, his mind was a mess. He breathed heavily as Alex hurried over to him, immediately putting the blade aside and flinging himself into his boyfriend's arms, all thoughts of harming himself gone. He whimpered softly as Alex held him, burying his face into the older teen's neck and sobbing.

“A-alex,” Hamish sobbed, nearly hyperventilating. “I can't take this, I can't do it! I'm sick of my p-parents fighting, I'm – I'm sick of my mind turning everything against me. I want out. Please. Let me out.”

Alex shook his head firmly, placing a kiss to the side of Hamish's head. “No, Misha. I'm not about to let you do what you were going to do. No. I'm not losing you.”

Hamish gave a soft whimper as he continued to sob. This made no sense. Alex was acting like he loved him, but, but he'd been so distant! “You – I thought – you....you don't want me,” Hamish sobbed as the nausea from his hyperventilation began to set in. “We never talk, and, and, and you're always going on about how great the people at uni are, and I rarely see you, and I'm being stupid and clingy...and...” He trailed off into a fresh trail of sobs, unable to finish his sentence for lack of air.

Alex tightened his hold on Hamish and peppered the side of his head with kisses. God, Hamish had really gotten into his head, into the darker side that he'd seen far too many times before. “This isn't you, Hamish. This isn't the Hamish I know,” Alex murmured as he rubbed Hamish's back. “Shh, love. Just breathe. Calm down. Deep breaths. Listen to me. Hamish, I love you. You know this. You know this, it's just your head beating you up. Just because I don't see you every weekend or am too busy to talk sometimes doesn't mean I don't love you.”

Hamish pulled back when Alex began to rub his back, the remnants of his tears drying on his face as he took shuddering breaths. Alex's words made sense to his heart. They'd been dating for two years, why the hell would Alex up and desert him when he got to university? They'd made too many plans for their future. Hamish was going to join Alex next fall, as soon as his final term ended. Soon. Alex had rushed over to 221B as soon as he'd gotten the text. Alex loved him. Alex worried about him. The more time he spent in Alex's arms, the more things made sense. He needed Alex. Alex kept him sane in a world that drove him insane. And Alex was here. Alex was taking care of him. Alex cared. He was going to leave this hell-hole of a flat in a matter of months. He buried his face into Alex's neck, feeling small. Ashamed. Weak.

“Alex...” Hamish said brokenly, keeping his arms tightly around his boyfriend as though he were drowning and Alex were a life preserver. Which, in a way, he was. Hamish was drowning in his anguish, and Alex was keeping him afloat. “I'm so s-sorry...I'm sorry I was so stupid...it's just...everything got to me...the fighting...missing you...it – it – I couldn't take it...how do you put up with me...with the way my mind beats me up and makes everything so – so negative...”

Alex felt his heart sink again as Hamish spoke, holding him tightly and rubbing gentle circles over his back to soothe him. He hated when Hamish spoke like this, when he questioned what Alex saw in him. Hamish was Alex's world. He was the sun, the moon, the stars, everything. Hamish had given Alex light when he'd been in a dark place, and now it was his turn to do the same. “Shh, Mish. Breathe, just breathe. I love you. I love you because you're brilliant, you're funny, you're caring, and you're wonderful. I know I can't change what's happening downstairs, but trust me. As soon as you graduate, we're moving in together. I'm getting you out of there. You don't deserve that. You deserve to be happy, and I'm going to do whatever I can to give you that,” Alex murmured. “I love you. And just because we don't talk every day or see each other every weekend doesn't mean I don't want you. Uni's tricky. The classes are harder, not to mention rugby pracise is more intense. But know that when you need me, I'm a text away. I promise you.”

Hamish listened to Alex speak, burrowing slightly against the other teen as the words sank in. He was going to be alright. Everything was going to be alright. Alex was going to take care of him, and they'd have the happiness they'd both wanted for so long. It was only a matter of time. His heart began to mend itself, the pieces returning to their normal places as he relaxed in his boyfriend's arms. “I love you too,” Hamish whispered. “And – and...I never texted because I thought you were busy with other people...I thought you – you found someone else...it sounds so stupid now...”

Alex shook his head. “No, Hamish. There's no-one else for me. It's you. Only you. I don't want anyone else, at least not like I want you. I've got friends, yes, but they don't compare to you. Does that make you feel better?”

Hamish nodded, sniffling as his tears subsided and his hold on Alex loosened some with his exhaustion. “Mmhm,” he said quietly. “Thank you...I promise, I'll try to be better about this...”

“It's alright,” Alex said just as softly. “Just remember I love you. I'll always love you. Now...I think what's happened has quietened those two, so get some sleep. And remember. Breathe.”

“Would you stay?”

“Of course.”

Hamish nodded and carefully pulled the two of them onto the bed, curling tightly against Alex as his emotionally exhausted state pushed him into deep, dreamless sleep. He was going to be okay. All he had to do was breathe.


End file.
